Shadows of the Past
by Hana1995
Summary: 7 years after his mother's and sister's death, Ryou Bakura decides to live with his father in England. Far away from his friends back in Japan, he is drawn into his family's legacy of tragedy and pain. RyouXBakura in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1  Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters (even though they are slightly hot, especially the members of the male cast, if you know what I mean) or Yu-Gi-Oh in general, all credit goes to Kazuki Takahashi. SPECIAL THANKS TO: My boyfriend Roland for helping me with this language and everyone who takes pleasure in reading this (and leaves my some feedback, I'm doing this for the first time)

PROLOGUE

The shadows danced a ballet of indiscernible beauty while young Ryou Bakura carefully paced down the stairs in his parents house with an old fashioned, brazen candle holder in his right hand. The nightly storm that was sweeping over his family's remote estate broke at the venerable windows, and every now and then, a flash of light lit the empty entrance hall when lightning struck the ocean. It were nights such as this that used to keep the seventeen year old white haired boy from finding the pleasant relieve of sleep, he longed for that desperately.

Usually, the wave's reflection that rippled over the walls of his chamber, his furniture and even the blankets that warmly covered his fragile body during night's lonely hours lulled him to his rest, allowing him to escape this edgy and imperfect reality, to find comfort into his pleasant dreams of beautiful landscapes, delightful animals and friendship. Yes, friends were what he was missing most of all since he and his father moved into the latter's family's ancestral seat in northern England. Friends and his mother, though he had been missing her for half his life by now. Ever since that fateful day a short time before his tenth birthday, people had tried to convince him that he was not the one responsible for his dear mothers and sister's sudden deaths. Or even that he had been blessed by godly protection.

Like it had not been his childish whining for childish things that had led to his mother's fatal lack of awareness…

After that incident, he had put everything childish behind him. His father was rather helpful in this too, yet in an unintentional fashion. He simply had ceased to be present, and without a caring person in his life, young Ryou had been forced to become independent at such a young age. Independence to him meant seriousness; therefore, he had not missed anything when his father forgot about his tenth birthday. What did parties and presents mean to someone who had already died on the inside anyway?

And now, he had left his mother's country of birth, Japan, in order to live with his father again, who by now had moved into the old manor, the Bakura family had build several centuries ago. Joining his father in England had been the last in a row of attempts of Ryou's to get restore his relationship with his last remaining parent, yet, alas, it had been no use. Ever since the young man had come into this cold and desolate manor, his father had almost consistently locked himself inside the old library. Therefore, Ryou had been on his own once again, with no one left to talk except for the small crew of servants his father kept and the countless faded and lifeless portrait's of his ancestors that hung all around the place.

However, as lifeless as those oil paintings appeared to be in the daytime, as vivid and intimidating was their presence when a single candleholder's unsettled light created an enchanting play of light and darkness on the men's and women's faces at night.

A sudden fit of uneasiness overcame Ryou at this point. Driven by instinct, he hoisted his light over his head, his gaze shifting through the empty entrance hall. No one else was there, of course; just him and his ancestors. Yet, the feeling remained. Maybe he should return to his chambers and try to find peace with a sleeping pill or two?

Just has he was about to turn and ascend over the flight of stairs back to his room, something touched him. It was not a physical contact; rather it made contact with his mind. It was not an unpleasant experience. Suddenly, the sounds of storm and rain faded to a subtle murmur, and Ryou felt as if a warm voice spoke to him. He could not make out any words or even be assured that it hadn't just been his overtired imagination that spoke to him, for the experience did not last any longer than a two or three seconds. Still, he somehow got a weird feeling, as if he would miss out on something if he would quit now.

He stood disoriented for a few seconds, for there were three doors leading out of the great hall. Then, he picked the one to his left, entering the east wing of the manor. Curiously, he wandered through the dark and empty halls, sometimes pausing in order to wait for this distinct sensation again, yet the phenomenon did not repeat it self. Still, he somehow knew which path he had to follow. After another turn to the right, he entered a spacious hall with a high ceiling. His memory of this part of the building was not that good, since he rarely ever came here. Despite the row of large windows that occupied the left wall, the room lay in impenetrable darkness. Ryou moved carefully, his bare feet making little sound on the soft carpet. What was he doing? He really should be in his bed right now, instead of chasing after an ephemeral hallucination…

Once again, the phenomenon occurred just the second, Ryou was about to leave again.

This time, it was by far more intense than it had been in the entrance hall. He breathed in hissingly and almost dropped the candle-holder. A pleasant warmth filled his entire being, a sensation he had missed dearly ever since the day his mother had left him for good.

And the voice spoke. "Ryou", it spoke, just a single word, yet with such intensity and reassuring strength that it left a stronger impression on him than anything he had heard in seven years. All the emotions, locked up for such a long time, responded to a single word, spoken by a bodiless voice and Ryou barely managed to contain himself. He did, though, somehow manage not to collapse on his knees and start crying; instead he lifted the candleholder higher into the air.

The sight that ensued almost took away his breath. While he had been in this hall before and briefly examined the paintings that covered the entire left wall, most of which showed gory sceneries of murder and revenge, things Ryou was not fond of at all, this specific painting had escaped his attention so far. While it was not the largest picture in this room, it was certainly haunting, especially to Ryou.

He stared at the painting paralysed. A young man, possibly a little older than Ryou, stared back. His brown eyes flashed with a challenging look and his mouth was twisted in a patronizing smile. The pale skin, along his white, rather messy hair contrasted his black waistcoat and cloak, while his right hand was resting on his long sword's pommel.

Ryou stood before the painting of a man that appeared to be his doppelganger. And while the inexplicable experience had ended once again, he knew that it had been this very portrait that was calling to him. Not moving his gaze from the man's cold eyes, Ryou shyly lifted his empty hand and slowly brought it into contact with the old canvas.

"Who are you", whispered Ryou soundlessly. The storm had ended by now.

AN: Okay, not that much plot in here, I know. This chapter was merely supposed to establish the mood. Thanks for reading!^^ What do you think? Shall I continue the story?

PS In the later chapters, I'm probably gonna introduce some of Ryou's friends from Japan. Right now, I consider Yugi and Anzu to pay him a visit, yet I'm open for your requests with regards to that matter!^^


	2. Chapter 2  In the Cold Light of Day

AN: Okay, I know, I've been a lazy girl, but I've got to thank you for all the positive feedback!^^ Once again, special thanks to my bf Roland for assisting me in mastering this language!

Ryou snored away the entire morning. Hadn't it been for the maid delivering his breakfast, the sleeping pills would have kept him lost in his dreams until well after noonday. Lifting the cover, Ryou faced a deranged slop bucket of eggs, French toast and roasted bacon. Sighing, he put the plate aside, thinking about how this woman was as clumsy as her Irish accent was thick. He simply would have to make to with some slices of yesterday's bread…

As the tranquillity fell off his mind, the memories of the past night began to emerge. While he stood at one of his windows, observing the grey autumn sky, in some places still flickered with some reminders of matutinal lavender, he reminisced about his nightly encounter. He had kept staring at the mysterious portrait for quite a while back then, yet he had not experienced the voice again. His emotional sally had been a unique loss of self-control, by now, Ryou was hiding in his sanctuary of equanimity afresh.

Abstracted, Ryou paced over to his Victorian dresser. The butler (who, in fact, was more of a male maid-of-all-work) once had told him that every single piece of furniture had a history on its own. While Ryou had not bothered to actually ask for any specific details, he assumed that this very specimen had been in the possession of a young woman at some point. Or at least that was what he had deduced from the yellowed love letters he had found in one of the drawers. At first, Ryou had considered reading them as a form of amusement, but in the end, he had put them back into the dresser, for he deemed it an intrusion into someone else's private life, may they be dead or not.

He opened the middle drawer, bringing to light his vast collection of spiritistic utensils. He shuffled through strange crystals, dark mirrors, books by Alleister Crowley and Eliphas Lévi, several Tarot-Decks and similar objects, until he found a bulky box, covered in dust. Coughing, he lifted the latter out of his cache of the supernatural, placing it on his bed. It contained an Ouija-Board, an implement used by most "beginners", who wanted to experience something preternatural. Ryou had bought it in order to restore contact with his mother and sister, yet to no avail. Either his willpower was too weak to conjure forth the ghosts or this wooden thingy was nothing but a load of bollocks. However, this time, Ryou felt, it might be coming in handy very soon.

He hadn't used this stuff once for more than a year and he was glad to see that he hadn't disposed of it yet. He had bought it all via a small publisher that had specialized in conspiracy theories and tell-it-all-literature. No one knew about Ryou's strange interest in the occult, but then again, "no one cares for what I'm into anyway", he reminded himself. Maybe he could use some of this in order to educe the portrait's secret…

After hiding these objects in their drawer again, Ryou left his chambers, locking the door behind him. Since his way down to the kitchen required him to pass the library, the white-haired boy chose to take the longer route through the garden. After all, his father had made it pretty clear that he would not tolerate any disturbances during his working hours, during which he buried himself in old books of arid archaeology. Therefore, Ryou usually chose not to be anywhere around this part of the manor, since his begetter used to handle every footstep in the corridor outside his sanctuary as an assault on his productivity. Not that he would produce anything at all while he locked himself in there, yet Ryou simply didn't have the strength to confront him right now. "Maybe", he thought on his way down the flight of stairs, "maybe I can ask him during a providential opportunity if he knows anything about the man on the portrait?"

All he knew right now was that the painting showed an ancestor of his, for his last name, Bakura, was all that hadn't been erased, yet that was about it; no date of birth or death, no given name, no title and no clue at all! However, using these occult utensils he had stored in his room, he could hope to get some answers first-hand.

Ryou found the outer door of the house's kitchen locked, forcing him to tap at the window next to the entrance. The gardener scuffed past him, grumbling a salutation. The teenager wondered if the man with his dirty clothes and the shaggy moustache had been drinking before starting work again.

Finally, the cooky unlocked the entrance, even though another disappointment awaited. She had already disposed of yesterday's stony bread, Ryou was told, yet she could offer him some Corn flakes. Milk had run out, he had to eat them with granulated sugar or plain. Ryou chose the sugar.

The wooden planks creaked underneath his feet as he carried his pitiful "prey" to the dining table, while the podgy cook went to work again, only taking breaks every now and then to exchange some gossip from the village with the gardener when he came near her window. Ryou chewed on his breakfast unenthusiastically, his thoughts still resting with the painting in the east wing. Was he the only one it had ever called to? Or had there been others? No, he decided, if there were, than why had they not filled in the missing name or moved it into a more prominent position? This train of thought somehow stroked his ego deep inside, offered solace to his tattered self-esteem. He was the man's doppelganger, was he not? He had seen most of the other portrait's in the manor, none of them showed a man or woman with pale skin and white hair. Somehow, he had always believed that his unusual hair colour came from his mother's side of the family. It was probably all the anime he had watched back in Japan that made him think so…

His meal complete, he politely thanked the cook, even though he did not have any real interest in her. After all, she was as shallow as the rest of the servants, with the exception of the butler, maybe, but the latter was simply too self-contained for Ryou to tell.

He suddenly stopped on his way out of the kitchen: Why did no one ever tell him about the painting? The similarities were obvious and ethereal voice or not, it was at least a remarkable case of intergenerational heredity. No one in town had ever whispered: "Look, it's that bloke from the portrait!" And as he thought about it, it even appeared to be doubtful that he had never noticed this portrait ever before. Something was not quite right here… Ryou sensed forces beyond his understanding work a web of deception around him.

Breaking free from his stupor, he began to run through the corridor ahead of him, heading for the east wing. He needed certainty! The only thing that had really "touched" him in years – nothing but his imagination running wild? Or did he even simply dream it while he lay in his bed? Impossible!

Ryou's breath went short as he raced through the hallway, not caring any longer about his father in the library to his left, until he reached the great hall he had visited the last night during the thunder-storm. Broken-winded, he stopped himself right in front of the place, he suspected the portrait. He stared at the painting paralysed. A dull-looking English pointer stared back.

"No, NO! But… how", Ryou stammered, collapsing on one knee. He felt cold and sick, expecting to throw up every second. He supported his weight with one hand on the floor, while he pressed the other in front of his mouth. It had been a dream. But how was that possible? It had been the only real emotion he had sensed in ages. He could not deny it!

Suddenly, he noticed how the soft carpet felt rather strange in the place he had laid his hand on. Ryou looked up to see what it was that he had felt. Some red stains, fused into the crimson carpet's structure. He instantly knew what it was. It was candle wax! And not quite little, indicating that he had been standing here for quite some time. Thank God, the red wax did not strike on the fitted carpet, or else the butler would have cleansed it by now, thereby erasing the one piece of evidence Ryou had needed.

Carefully, he stood up, feeling much stronger already. So, the man in the picture was up to some games? He should have his games tonight, when Ryou would come back here and simply take the cursed painting to his room for some investigations. And then, he would find satisfaction!


	3. Chapter 3 The Quest for Certitude

AN: Okay, everyone, here's the new chapter! Took us longer to complete than expected, but then again, it's a little bit longer than the last one as well! Have fun reading! Special thanks to Seren147 for making me aware of some unfortunate (and partially slightly amusing) choices of words in the first two chapters! With this update, I'm fixing this as well. Special thanks to my boyfriend as well for his help and support.

Ryou had waited until well after midnight, before he dared to slip out of his room in the upper floor in order to get to the painting in the east wing. He did not want anyone to ask him silly questions about his nightly activities, therefore, he had dawdled away the hours with a good book and a few cups of black tea, he had fixed himself beforehand. At least, falling asleep was nothing to worry about, for this night's storm was even more intense than the last one's. Big raindrops drummed against his windows, creating a sound that would exact a toll on even the calmest man's patience.

Upon his return to the east wing, he found the painting unchanged, still sporting an English hound. Lifting the heavy frame from the wall was a difficult task for the thin boy, and while he struggled to bear this mysterious object to his room via an auxiliary staircase next to the kitchen, Ryou cursed his weak physique and scolded himself for not working out on a regular basis.

Having the painting undergo all sorts of occult rituals, including an investigation with a pendulum and an attempted contacting via the Ouija Board led to another disappointment. No paranormal phenomenon occurred and in the end, the picture had suffered irreparable damage from the procedure, forcing Ryou to think about tactful ways of disposing this useless thing. He couldn't possibly hang it back on the wall like this, without risking to draw unwanted attention to his unusual interests. Sighing, he donned his black coat and began dragging this cursed dog down the stairs once again. It seemed that everything had been an illusion, after all. The white haired teenager felt numb on the inside. He was no longer able to feel the excitement that had marked the last night. Neither did he recall his burning sense of confusion upon learning about the painting's mysterious transformation, nor could he memorize how the weight of disappointment had dashed him to the ground after even the last of his attempts had failed, to find anything special about the old canvas he was now carrying through the dark, desolated kitchen; just a deep, dark void filling the core of his being, crawling through his veins, toying with his senses – bringing forth memories of the past!

Like bloodthirsty bats from a cave, the hateful reminiscences emerged from the dark reaches oh his being, jittering upwards in a spiral of deadly lunacy; like a flock of dark bats, they mobbed him in a dome oh his own failures. They were fluttering to his sides and in front oh him. He could sense their mad dance above and below… and fell their assault from behind.

In a procession of unholy solemnity, the images of sorrow drifted past his mind's eye.

He was sitting on the backseat of a car. His small fists punched the bolsters to his sites, before crossing his arms in front of him and pouting. His mother's smiling face turned into his direction; she leaned back in the driver's seat as she spoke forgotten words of warming love, despite his horrible attitude. Her head still turned, she still somehow sensed that something was not quite right, yet, alas, too late. All of a sudden, a horrible sound of clashing metal drowned all other sounds, including his mother's warm voice, just as a…

"NO", Ryou screamed aloud, dropping the portrait. "I DON'T WANT! DON'T WANT!"

He yanked a sharp knife out of a block and, with all might, rammed it right into the wooden surface of the kitchen table. Broken-winded, he remained in this crude position, his body partially standing in front, partially lying across the board, his arms shaking, his face twisted in a grimace of tremendous struggle. His hands, which were still resting on the knife's handle felt sweaty, his fingers were trembling.

It took Ryou a deep breath and quite a lot of effort to loosen himself from the table's surface. Slightly horrified by his own lack of control, he fearfully examined the damage he had done. The knife had cut a deep gash into the wooden planks, yet Ryou was confident that it would go unnoticed by the cook. It was obvious that she only had eyes for this bum of a gardener…

He immediately regretted this expression of tastelessness towards his father's employees, even though he hadn't even said it aloud. It was simply a sign of Ryou's returning composure.

After making sure that he left the kitchen in a condition similar to that, it had been in when he had entered, the boy flipped his coat's collar up and stepped outside into the rain. The long, black cloak did not spare his clothes from getting drenched, however. Ryou did not mind. The same applied to the painting with the thick pointer, especially, since it had been ruined anyway.

The garden gate was locked, yet it took Ryou little time to climb over the hedge to his left. At first, he considered disposing of the picture somewhere in the town, but then he decided to take the route to his left, leading down to the cliffs. The wind whipped against his lonely figure, as he paced the muddy way downhill, causing his coat to blow behind him in a spectacular fashion, while he kept his free arm raised to shield his face from the forcefully driven raindrops that still kept blurring his vision. He knew this path, the green hills that framed it to the right as well as the swampy plain that lay to his left. The loneliness of boy and nature was undisturbed; the nightly hour as well as the harsh weather had driven even the toughest man home by now.

When he finally reached the cliffs, Ryou almost fell right over the edge, for the moon was hidden behind black clouds and the rain's sough almost drowned the sound of the waves. "A tempting idea, in hindsight", Ryou thought to himself. Death by heedlessness. All problems solved, yet now, it was too late. "For a fully-aware leap down into the dark tide", Ryou assessed cynically, "I'm simply lacking the courage." With a apologetic look in his eyes, he winded up and hurled the pointer's portrait into the deep, where it was swallowed by the darkness after a few meters. Only a distinct noise from below gave Ryou the assertion that it was now the sea's possession. And the sea did not return what she had claimed. Or something along those lines, Ryou remembered, was what he had overheard during one of his rare visits to the local pub.

His fragile body began to shiver with the cold that crept through his skin into his inside. With one last look over the dark ocean's panorama, he buried his hands in the coat's pockets and went back home.

Upon his return, he did not waste any time. Stripping of his soaked clothes, he fetched himself a woollen blanket from his under bed drawer, before he came to the conclusion that he would not find any sleep this night. Instead, he carried the blanket as well as his laptop und his arm down into the eastern wing, in order to spend the rest of this stormy night in a small cosy room that was located ´next to the hall of painting. Locking the door behind him, he lit a fire in the fireplace before draping himself in the warm, woollen blanket on one of the two couches. The fire's warmth and flicker scared away the shadows of the past, and the shiver disappeared from Ryou's limbs.

He had deliberately chosen this room. Not only was it small and cosy, furnished with soft settees, it was also located in the midst of the east wing and therefore lacked any windows. The raindrop's barrage was barely audible in here, sparing the young man the unpleasant sensation of mistaking their pounding for a patronising voice, laughing, mocking him from afar.

Cramming all these sinister thoughts back into the darkest chasm of his mind, Ryou logged into ICQ and used the ungodly hour for keeping in touch with his friends from Japan. Both Yugi and Jounochi were online, as well as Honda. Anzu had left a note and Miho was offline… thankfully. He was a patient man, yet her continuous attempts to flirt with him were a major annoyance, even to him. She was surely attractive, yet of a sickeningly jejune temper. Besides, he preferred girls as friends, not love interests or, in Miho's case, appendages. He had never told anyone and, thus far, always evaded thinking about in a detailed manner, yet he had already more or less accepted that he felt strongly attracted to members of his own gender. Still, as of now, he had never been forced to actually explore what it meant, for he had never met a young boy, who was feeling the way he did without being a complete jerk or a "nelly".

Ryou enjoyed almost two hours of pleasant, mostly trivial chatter with his pals, the most exciting part being Yugi and Jounochi announcing their visit at Ryou's estate for the 1st of November, next week's Wednesday. It was just the moment he wrote, that he would feel honoured to welcome the two of them in the family's manor (He did not bother to actually ask his father, if he was okay with it, for he probably wouldn't notice their presence here anyway), he suddenly experienced a quaint sensation. The feeling was unusual, yet familiar; Ryou immediately knew who was calling to him. He could sense the ethereal voice that merged force with warmth, slip into his ears once again, whispering his name, and he felt like aerial hands gracefully settled on his shoulders. They stroked his very being, offering comfort and salvation. Excitement flooded all over his mind, washing away the dark thoughts, replacing them with the bright light of untainted pleasure.

And then, the ethereal voice ceased to speak, replacing the soft, affectionate whispering with a pair of perfect, aerial lips, being passionately pressed on Ryou's mouth. A single tear escaped the white haired boy's eye, yet it was not a tear of sadness. The moment, which, Ryou suddenly realized, was the one of his first kiss, drowned him with happiness. Shyly, he returned the kiss, embracing the air in front of him. Was this… what love was supposed to feel like?

The annoying sound of a missed message suddenly roused Ryou from his experience; the ethereal hands withdrew. Rashly, he saw off his buddies', before he wrapped himself in the blanket and listened carefully. The voice had returned, and it was guiding him. Ryou followed the luring whisper back into the kitchen, a candleholder in his hand. It was asking him to open a wooden door with iron trim, yet Ryou found it secured with a shiny, new padlock. Just as he was about to slam his fists against the planks in disappointment, the voice lightened the way once again, and suddenly, Ryou knew what he had to do. After retrieving a thin knife from a drawer the voice had led him to, Ryou's hands began seemingly to work on their own. In a few cunning moves, they unlocked the door, revealing a narrow staircase that led down into the untapped cellar storeroom.

The stairs, build of stone, felt rough beneath the young boy's bare feet, and the sound of his steps echoed through the empty vaults. The storm had grown in intensity during the last hours, and the rain was far from ceasing as well. Earthy water welcomed Ryou's toes, as he descended from the last winder. Apparently, the rain was seeping into the basement through some crack.

Lifting the candle holder, Ryou managed to get a formidable scheme of the room. Dusty racks covered the walls, most of which were empty. Yet, in the darkest corner, the boy spotted some object, covered by a black cloth. Excitedly, Ryou ran over to the shelf and yanked away the cloth, thereby blowing up the dust around him. After a short cough attack, Ryou brought the candles near the object he had unveiled. Ryou sighed in relief, as his gaze met the brown eyes of his ancestor. Was it just him, or had the patronizing smirk become more of a friendly smile since he had last seen the portrait?

Then, he frowned. It was not bloody likely that the picture had moved down here on its own. Ryou sensed conspiracy around him. Therefore, he was barely surprised when a familiar voice spoke up from behind him: "You should not have come for him, my son."


	4. Chapter 4 The Confrontation

IMPORTANT INFORMATION: I changed the rating from T to M, because it gets slightly darker now than I had in mind at first.

AN: I'm sorry for not updating for a long time; however, I recently went through an entire load of problems, both personal and technical in nature. Special Thanks to everyone who offered me their support during these days, especially Reflective Reviewer 7 (I'm praying that you get well soon), who gave me a whole lot of great advice, and my friends Catrin & Josefina for standing close to me. Also, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the anonymous person, who saved my account by changing my Password.

Und an Roland: Ich brauche dich nicht und ich habe dich nie gebraucht! Von mir aus kannst du geradewegs zur Hölle fahren. Viel Spaß noch mit deinem Leben ohne mich.

"Well, that's none of your business", Ryou snapped, momentarily abandoning his polite speaking habits, "You weren't there for me before. Why the interest now? Get the bloody hell out of my life!"

His father, however, did not make a move. "Listen to yourself, Ryou…", he said, calm, observing, "It is him I hear in your words, his ghost is like a flock of bats that clouds your mind. Get away from him!"

Ryou could feel the anger build inside him, and he probably would have spat out something even less like him, hadn't it been for the voice. Maybe, it was due to the physical closeness of the Portrait, maybe it was Ryou's own emotional agitation at the last hour's events, but its timbre had changed during the past minutes. It had grown stronger, clearer. The ethereal resonance had faded to a slight whiff, causing it to sound more like a human voice, like someone speaking right next to Ryou's ear. Even though it had assumed a slightly commanding intonation, the romantic promise of heavenly love it still held for the white-haired boy was enough to distract Ryou from his argument. "You've got to buy us some time. It is almost done! Do not allow him to separate us!"

Countless thoughts swirled through the white-haired boy's head at the same time. What was the man from the portrait, whom Ryou already had simply dubbed "Bakura" in his mind, up to? Was his father right? Did he change? Considering how his hands had unlocked the padlock with ease by using an ordinary, albeit sharp, kitchen knife (where had he put that thing anyway?) was proof enough that Bakura had a certain degree of control about him… Whatever his intentions though, Ryou instinctively know that he should play along, if not for Bakura, than for himself. Feeling just a little bit more special surely wouldn't hurt anyone, and the only way to experience this wonderful sentiment was by indulging in this special, mystical bond.

His father's harsh voice yanked him back into the here and now with a start, as he asked him to "stop dreaming and listen to me" in a clearly annoyed fashion.

The storm's noise had almost become silent; the manor's brick-build bowels locked it out, rendering the dripping of water that echoed through the vaults far more prominent. From the shoulders down, Ryou's body felt numb. He had no idea how long he and his father were already standing in the flooded basement, but the blanket the boy wore had already become soaked with the dirty water, that filled the cellar up to their knees.

"What do you know, dad? Most of the time, you're too busy burrowing yourself under your dusty reams in the bibliotheca. How many times did we even exchange a few words since I moved in with you? Three times? Four? The few times we met, you gave me the feeling that you didn't even want me around! Correction: YOU NEVER WANTED ME AROUND!" Ryou had yelled the last words at his father, every interest in a civilized discussion thrown overboard by now.

"That's not true, Ryou, and you know it!"

"OH, NOT? It's just the two of us down here, just you and me. You can be totally frank. Ever since that day mother and Amane died, you wished it had been me instead of them. You wanted me to be the body crushed by that truck's dead plate, me to be the one burning alive in a pool of incinerated gasoline, me to be the corpse impaled on that arbor! Admit it! FOR FUCK'S SAKE ADMIT IT!"

"HOW DARE YOU…?" By now, his father was yelling as well.

The images that were spinning around in Ryou's mind while he had shouted out those terrible things were not entirely unpleasant to him. This was not was surprised him about them, though. On nights when he couldn't sleep, he sometimes conjured scenes like these. Death offered tranquillity, after all. Or at least he used to think like this. However, what was surprising about the images that manifested in front of his mind's eye right now did not display his fragile, white-haired figure suffering those terrible deaths. Instead it was his father, who experienced one gruesome accident after the other. It was simply disgusting, and Ryou had probably pre-emptively pressed his hands in front of his mouth, hadn't the numb feeling in his body wrested them from his control. And yet he could not help but wonder how he was suddenly capable of thinking these sick thoughts. Was it true? Did Bakura try to possess him? "NO! Impossible! He would never hurt someone he loves", he reassured himself. Still, he had to admit, that he did not know what Bakura was planning and why he had urged him to buy some time with this conversation.

And then, Ryou jumped forward in a movement, which's agility and litheness would have been impossible to Ryou, even if he hadn't stood the last 10 minutes or so in icy water, wearing nothing but a wet blanket. His body was acting on his own, it seemed. Ryou could only watch in terror, how his entire weight was hurled on his father, knocking the older man on his back. The water gushed away from the falling human but Ryou could not feel the cold spatters that sloshed in his face. He was still seeing everything that happened through his very eyes, however, the body they were part of was no longer Ryou's. He could not even open his mouth to scream when he became aware of the kitchen knife that flashed in his right hand, high above his head.

One second later, it was over. His father had stopped thrashing and the waters, that filled the basement, were turning darker around the body. Bakura's control over Ryou's body disappeared all of a sudden, and the white haired boy simply plunged into the slough as if it had been deprived of all its strength. Only his natural reflexes kept him from drowning, and, almost against his will, his head breached the surface. Coughing, Ryou realized that his face wasn't just wet from nearly drowning but also from crying. After gasping for breath a few moments, he crawled over to his father's corpse that was gently rocking on a pool of blood. which had already started mixing with the water.

"No, No, please!" Desperately, Ryou churned the lifeless body that once had harboured a soul he had known and now was nothing but an already paling shell. He couldn't believe it… It was simply beyond his understanding. He had been so sure that Bakura had only wanted him to be happy!

"And I still do, believe me, Ryou. To me, your happiness is more important than anything else in this world… or the next one", the voice spoke in his mind. Was it just wishful thinking of Ryou's, or did the voice really express the same horror and disbelief Ryou felt from the bottom of his heart?

Ryou had wanted to shout at the ghost, maybe even to destroy the portrait; however, the sound of his voice had washed away every thought of revenge. What remained was deathly despair that bound Ryou to the drifting corpse with the powerful force of depression.

And yet, he did manage to lift his head a little bit, when the voice, he had had unlimited trust in, spoke up again: "Ryou, let go. He has left you in favour of a better world. He is… beyond your reach now. Let go. You cannot do anything about it; you have lost your father tonight, and I share your pain. Yet", the voice continued in a way that was like nothing, Ryou had ever hared before, "You could gain a lover tonight as well. Help me regain my body. I could love you physically just as much as I do already with my mind."

This offer sounded tasteless, disgusting and blundering to Ryou, and yet, he could not resist the tempting voice, when it asked him to take the portrait out of the shelf and to place it on a crate next to the corpse.

"Yes! Yes, like this! Closer, Ryou, closer! His life shall restore my own…"

AN: Ok, not quite the basis for a totally healthy relationship, but then again, there relationship isn't quite sane in the Manga either, now is it? Still, I have to admit that I had lots of qualms writing this chapter. In case of overly negative feedback, I may retcon the entire thing… Oh, and do you consider my writing style to have impaired since the last chapter? Please tell me!


	5. Chapter 5 Shattered Soul

AN: This chapter was actually supposed to be longer and explain more things; however, I'm going to be too busy during the next week due to school work that I could possibly write. Therefore, I've split the contents up into two chapters. Thanks to Seren147 for beta-reading and helping me. Also, my apologies to everyone who has been harassed by Roland Keissinger, but he simply does not know when to stop. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

It was warm and cosy. This was the very first thing Ryou noticed upon awaking from a deep and dreamless slumber. With the same exertion of willpower it took him every morning, he forced open his eyes. His room seemed darker than usual during the morning's hours, probably, Ryou thought barrenly, it was due to the season. Autumn had the land in its grasp, and it seemed that winter approached more swiftly then he had expected only one week ago.  
He sat up in his bed, his head heavy and aching. Ryou's gaze shifted to his bedroom's window and he frowned. The heavily clouded skies were painted in fiery shades of orange, yet there was no trace of the rising sun. "What time is it anyway", he muttered to himself as he got up. Damn, his head hurt! What had he been up to the last evening…?

The next thing he noticed was the distinct crackling sound of burning twigs in a fireplace. Turning to his living room to the left, he noticed another thing. The flickering glow was affording enough light as to clearly define the book shelves at the rear wall of the room. Even from his position in his bed, Ryou could clearly see that someone had randomly been taking books out of his racks, which by now were forming a nice, messy pile on a cocktail table in the corner. "Who did this", he wondered, getting up and pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. What had that maid been up to again? Had she tried to bring him his breakfast and, upon finding him dead asleep, decided to snoop through his private possessions? He knew that she was rather jejune, however, even she should have known that messing with Ryou's stuff without leaving it the way it had been before would probably lose her the job.

Mildly annoyed (He had obviously overslept and someone had rifled through his personal belongings – this was definitely going to be a wonderful day), he walked into his study, in order to investigate why his things were in disarray. He was just standing in front of the shelves, observing the mess, as an amused voice that sounded remotely familiar spoke up from the corner of the room that Ryou could not view from his bed: "Did you have a good sleep, Ryou?"

The boy spun around, now facing the speaker. Sitting in Ryou's only wing chair, his doppelganger smirked at him. Bakura had donned some of Ryou's clothes (for some reason, he was wearing the black trench coat like a cape) and a volume of Harry Potter was resting on his lap: "By the way, I've tried some of your books. Did not get some things and most of it is plain boring…I don't suppose that English literature still remembers Donne and Shakespeare… after all these yea… HEY!"

Ryou was unable to answer. With a flash, all the terrible memories of the past night were revived; the sight of the originator of his confusion had awoken them all at once. Ryou collapsed on his knees and a fit of crying shook his fragile body. The images were assailing him all at once… The dark vaults… His father's corpse… the blood on his hands. Yes… his hands. It was these hands that had wielded the knife which had ended his father's life. Once again, he had brought upon the demise of his relatives. Now, as he was curled up into a ball on the old-fashioned Persian rug, crying his eyes out, he could do nothing but wonder how he had been able to find the strength it required to carry out the ghost's instructions. Of the basic resurrection, Ryou was lacking any recollection. Upon the sight of such amounts of blood, he probably fainted right on the spot… The only thing exceptional about that was the fact that he had woken up in his warm and fluffy bad, instead of unconsciously drowning in the flooded cellars.  
He had no idea how long he had been lying on the floor, sobbing, mourning things that were beyond his reach. His father's death blended with the horrifying scenes and sounds of that fateful car crash seven years ago… Again, it had been his blame that a beloved person had died. No loving god would allow even the least of his creatures to suffer like this. A sinister force was at work here, one capable of pure evil… and it had a hold of him, for its name was Bakura and its eyes were gleaming with such a beguiling sparkle.

And still, the same moment these thoughts took shape in his mind, he knew that it was nothing but pathetic pussyfooting… worthy of him, for he was a pathetic human. After all, Bakura had not even been around when disaster struck for the first time. He was there to protect him, to save him from this woeful world, Ryou tried to convince himself, even though it further impaired his already low self esteem.

After what seemed like an eternity, in which he had spent observing Ryou, Bakura added his book to the already heaping pile and approached the weeping boy. Ryou lifted his head as he felt a hand of flesh and blood resting gently on his shoulder. Bakura was standing right in front to him, though the smile had left his face. Carefully, as if not to scare Ryou, he lowered himself onto one knee, maintaining eye contact with his smaller doppelganger at all times. A warm feeling, similar to the one he had felt during their first "kiss" the past night, build up in Ryou's heart, and for a moment, he longed for the feeling of Bakura's lips being pressed violently on his own. The kiss, however, did not occur, instead Bakura helped Ryou up and lead him over to the wing chair in a fashion similar to that of an old-schooled gentleman, leading an elderly lady to her seat. Under normal circumstances, Bakura would have rejected such a treatment, but right now, he was by far too weak to protest. The physical contact felt good and he wanted it to last. He had stopped crying by the time Bakura had seated himself on one of the armrests and draped one of his arms around Ryou's small back, gently stroking him with his hand.

"Why, Bakura, why did you kill him?" Ryou asked soundlessly.  
When Bakura spoke, the boy startled a small bit, for he hadn't expected the speaker's mouth to be that near to his ear: "I thought it would make you happy, Ryou. I had seen into your mind, and I knew that you were lacking any feelings for him. Your relationship with him was dead, Ryou, and you know it. I can read your mind even now that two bodies separate us. It requires physical contact, though."

"Read my mind…?" While Bakura's explanation was not anywhere near being satisfying, Ryou's curiosity had been roused. The magic he had experienced in the past 24 hours was beyond everything he had ever read about in his books, and he was still eager to further tap into the secrets of forgotten knowledge.

"We are connected to each other, Ryou, like no one else is. I'm sure you already assumed it, though. After all, you are the first one to bear… my good looks ever since the day I died. It is this connection that enables me to enter your mind, or you to reach into mine."

"I have this power as well?"

"Yes, indeed. However, I don't suppose that you would like what you would experience inside my head. I don't have you to tell you about your own state of mind, you know it yourself probably better than me, therefore, you should have a vague impression of what it looks like inside your thoughts…" And with a smile, he added: "My mind is, to phrase it mildly, worse."

"I still want to try it", Ryou said with every grain of strength he could fuel his voice with. To his surprise, Bakura did not try and stop him: "Try it", came the invitation.

Ryou closed his eyes, concentrating entirely on his feelings. The crackling fire faded to nothing more than a distant murmur the same way it had happened that one night he had first found the portrait. At first, he felt completely lost in the darkness that ensued, then, he became aware of a beckoning glow ahead of him – Bright as a sun, colourful as a jewel, it stood against the surrounding darkness. Without walking, Ryou approached it, for he instinctively knew that it was Bakura's soul he was looking at. Upon reaching the periphery, he hesitated for a swift moment. "Be my guest. Go further, Ryou! What you wanted to experience is right inside here…" a voice from all around sneered at him. "Very well", he thought to himself, "Do it, Ryou!"

He moved through the shining surface of the soul, leaving the darkness and entering – hell!

Scarlet shadows gave birth to crimson beasts; warped shapes of temples and castles were raised at one second and reduced to dust the next. Creatures, belittling Ryou's mind with their sheer implausibility, swarmed through the red fog, swinging claws at his back and ejaculating bloodcurdling shrieks and howls. Their devilish wings were swirling up the bleeding air, creating grotesque shapes with eyes inside of mouths and fangs made of flesh. Glowing domes of light over Ryou changed into massive iron cages in single blinks, before turning back into violet flares. Sharp spikes the length of his entire body appeared from all directions, ready to impale him from above and below before gracefully shattering themselves in a suicidal storm. Ryou tried to scream, stumbling backwards, hoping to escape this shattered soul as easily as he had entered it. Turning around, however, he found that the vile landscape stretched endlessly into every direction. In horror, he watched iron coffins rise up from the ground around him, disgorging creatures that may have been human once. Now, their skin was covered in bruises, severe burns, bleeding welts and slits across their throats. He saw men and women alike, both old and young, children even, scourged the same way. And every single face overflowed with hatred and unconcealed bloodlust. The most fiendish smile, however, was that of a young man with brown skin, who appeared to be one of the least disfigured creatures. He smirked appreciatively while he raised the daggers in his right hand for a fatal blow.

And then, the horror ended. Ryou found himself lying on the back on the Persian rug once more. Bakura stood over him, his right hand outstretched, and Ryou assumed that he had simply pushed him away the moment he wanted to end the contact. His face looked more menacing than ever, while the flickering flames in the fireplace created a constant change of light and darkness on his features and a wolf-like grin twisted his features as he said: "This is my own little world, Ryou, and mine alone. I suppose I don't have to tell you to stay out of it from now on."

(To make one thing clear: I have not been taking any drugs while describing Bakura's soul, in case you wondered!)


End file.
